The Cursed Tribe - Chapter 8

  • Chapter 8

    The Pit of Ash I

     

    What a shitty day.

     

    That was all Decimus was able to think about as he struggled through the snow. Yesterday had been a long day, especially because he’d got stuck in Riften because of that bloody snowstorm. Just admit it, it wasn't that bad. You got paid, so you could spent your day in the Bee and Barb, drinking yourself under the table.

     

    And because of that, it was a shitty day. His head hurt and the freezing air didn't really help it either; he was just glad that the sun was hidden behind those heavy, steely clouds. The colour was something between blue and gray, and that meant only one thing. There would be another storm very soon.

     

    Why didn’t you just stay in Riften? “That Orc said I have one week to pay that blood-price.” And? You're some kind of saint now? You haven't signed a Goldpact with that Orc. “But I'm a man of my word.” Oh come on, who gives a shit about honor? “I do.” Then why didn't you wait at least a few days?

     

    And that was a good question and he would have pat himself on shoulder for it, but because it was him who had asked that question...that would be crazy. “I should really stop this - talking to myself,” he murmured. Yeah, maybe you should. But it's the only thing that keeps you sane, right?

     

    So why was he trudging along the southern bank of Lake Honrich? Because he was curious. Curiousity was bad, but he couldn't help himself. He was curious as to why those Orcs were at Faldar's Tooth - more importantly, why had those bandits kidnapped the younglings?

     

    He knew that curiosity wasn't the most clever thing in his line of work. Curiosity gets people killed. One can't help but think about curiosity itself.

     

    What is curiosity? What makes men and mer reach for the unknown, just to satisfy this hungry beast? Who knows? Why does a scholar pursue research in long forgotten ruins of races long gone? Why does a little child listen behind a door, to hear its parents arguing?

     

    Maybe it's the desire to know the unknown. Jealousy? People usually want to know everything other people know. Fear? Show me a person who isn't afraid of his friend knowing more than he should and I'll buy you a flask of mead.

     

    Curiosity is a poison. It makes people do stupid things for stupid reasons, if you want to hear my opinion. But why should you? I doubt you're that curious. Huh, maybe I just got to the bottom of this thing. Are you curious? Or maybe I should ask: Do you care?

     

    That's where it all starts. You care, thus you're curious.

     

    “Oh, will you just shut up, man? It makes my headache worse,” snarled Decimus and he spat into the snow. His saliva almost froze in mid-air and then it hit the snow. How can your own thoughts make your head hurt?

     

    “Just shut up, Decimus, and keep walking. Keep walking.” And that's all about curiosity.

    Gularzob was curious.

     

    Since they had returned to Largashbur, everyone had scarcely spoken. They didn't talk about what happened in Faldar's Tooth, nor did they talk to each other. Normally, that wouldn't be anything surprising. Orcs didn't talk about their problems with others. They just solved them themselves. That was an Orc’s way.

     

    Yet they didn't speak at all. It was as though they had all been drowned in their own thoughts and he didn't understand that. He wanted to ask his chieftain about this “Lorbulg”, but he saw Yamarz's mood. They all looked like they were sitting on a chair full of spikes, ready to jump back on their feet, with sore arses, ready to break someone's nose.

     

    And the worst part of it was that Grulmar acted just like them. Like a body without a soul. Ghorurz hadn’t woken them up that morning for their training, yet Grulmar was up early and had gone out. Gularzob followed him to the forge-hut and saw him stirring up the flame. It took him some time, but he managed that. And then he just stood there, looking into the flames as if he was enchanted by them.

     

    He walked beside him and was surprised when Grulmar spoke.

     

    “What is death?” he asked with a serious tone and that caught Gularzob off guard. Grulmar was never serious.

     

    “What kind of stupid question is that?” he replied. “When you die, you're dead. That's all.”

     

    “Those men. Those humans. At one moment they were moving and just another moment later, they weren't,” continued Grulmar with a voice that made Gularzob's skin crawl. “The blood leaving their body. Is that what makes everything dead? When they lose blood?”

     

    Gularzob never thought about it. Death was all around them and through the death of everything else, they lived. When an animal dies, it gives us fur, it gives us food. But they were just meatbags as Atub called them. When something lives, it has emotions. Fear, rage and desire. But when it dies, everything is gone. Everything that makes it alive. All that's left behind is an empty meatbag.

     

    “Yes. When you lose too much blood, you can die,” he answered Grulmar's questions and frowned. “What's wrong with you?”

     

    “So blood is life? Blood keeps me alive?”

     

    Gularzob was getting angry at those stupid questions. He was getting angry at Grulmar. Because he couldn't give him answers. He felt stupid. He grabbed his younger brother by the arm and turned him around, only to stumble back. He was looking into Grulmar's face and his eyes and he saw something...terrible there. Something ageless. Something that didn't belong in a child's face.

     

    “What happens to me when I die? Does it hurt to die?”

     

    “Enough,” growled Gularzob. “What's wrong with you?”

     

    “There's a human approaching!” they heard a shout from the palisade. Gularzob guessed it was Osha. She had been on the palisade almost all the time since they had returned. He didn't understand why, but she was there. Watching.

     

    “There are changes coming,” said Grulmar in an alien voice. “The betrayal doesn't hide in the shroud of night but in the light of fire, in plain sight. Changes are coming.” And then he ran away to see who was approaching Largashbur.

     

    “What's wrong with you?” whispered Gularzob.

     

    He was too young to understand. He was an Orc. An adult of any other race would understand what had happened to Grulmar. What makes a child grow past itss age. What can shatter their whole fragile world and throw them into the world of grown-ups.

     

    It's the death of innocence.

    He emerged from the forest of birch trees and saw figures on the palisade of the stronghold. They noticed him and now they were preparing for battle. Well, no shit. These Orcs are a really fiery bunch.

     

    “Well, now they know you're here. You can't turn back,” he said to himself and forced his legs to move, though they seemed they have their own will and didn't want to move. He felt a little dizzy, but that was just the headache. Damn hangover. Damn mead.

     

    What makes those Orcs so paranoid anyway? Their stronghold was just that - a stronghold. An impenetrable stronghold, but as he was looking at it, he realised it wasn't because of the palisade or their buildings that Orc strongholds were indestructible. Yes, they were made to last; they were just as strong as the Orcs themselves, but any army with siege machines could easily flush them out.

     

    No, it was the people themselves who made those strongholds something that can never be destroyed. They were tough, and they never gave up. They were the strongholds. There weren't many things as dangerous as an Orc backed into a corner. And their strongholds were just that. One big corner.

     

    He felt heat in his hands, feet and face and that was good. He wasn't freezing to death, so the movement probably did him some good. It warmed him. He forced his legs to move and walked on towards the stronghold.

     

    So he had arrived and now that he was here, he was looking forward to getting back to Riften and drinking some more damned mead. It was funny. How can one walk to an Orcish stronghold with curiosity and then, when he arrives, he's already looking forward to getting back to Riften?

     

    “I'll just settle this blood-price and then I'll head back to the Bee and Barb into a warm bed. With some warm girl, maybe,” he chuckled for himself.

     

    And you haven't thought what that blood-price means? “No. It probably means that they want some compensation because they couldn't kill that bandit. Hundred septims should be enough, no? What else would they want?”

     

    Blood maybe?

     

    “Shit…”

    Yamarz wanted blood. He was full of rage since his encounter with Lorbulg. He had been shamed by his defeat and he needed to blow out some steam. And that fool who promised to pay the blood-price instead of that bandit had really arrived to pay it. And Yamarz wanted his blood. All of it.

     

    The human had showed honor in arriving so soon. He showed honor in arriving at all and that deserved Yamarz's respect, but the chieftain didn't want to give someone respect for honor.

     

    Honor is a disease. Traditions are its symptoms. It binds us to bed, where we can do nothing but lie and wait for our death. Honor is a death wish.

     

    These were Lorbulg's words and they were making Yamarz sick. Because they might have been the truth. Orcs valued strength and honor and Lorbulg had proved himself to be stronger than his honorable brother. How could one follow a code of honor when so many in the world didn't and it made them stronger?

     

    He growled. I'm not weak. If the Orcs won't follow the path of honor, who in the world will? We are the finest example of honor, and if we throw our honor away, we can't call ourselves Orsimer anymore. We would be nothing better than those weaklings living in cities where corruption, poverty and sickness - of both mind and body - rules.

     

    We are the children of Malacath. We are cursed and we show no regret in that. Because that curse makes us strong.

     

    But what was that curse? Was it...the honor?

     

    He shook his head and continued equipping his armor. He knew the human favoured swords, but no shield. Axes? Two-handed sword? He took his axes and nodded to himself. They were his weapons of choice, he was most comfortable with them. And they would give him an advantage against that human's swords.

     

    It was like all that talk about honor had never happened. He knew he should respect that man and allow him to pay the blood-price in gold coins or anything of value. But he needed to feel strong again. To Oblivion with honor! There will be blood.

    Gularzob watched Yamarz walking out of the Longhouse in full armor with his axes in hands. He smirked. “He will hack that human into pieces.”

     

    Grulmar looked at Yamarz and then at Gularzob. “Why do you want that man dead, Zob?”

     

    Smirk was gone and it was replaced by a scowl. He didn't like it when Grulmar called him Zob. That was what Osha called him, and hearing it from that runt was strange. Unpleasant. “Why not? He has to pay the blood-price. Malacath demands it.”

     

    “How do you know what Malacath demands? He speaks with you?” asked Grulmar.

     

    Gularzob shot him a look to see if his brother was mocking him. But Grulmar was watching the human nearing the stronghold, his face empty of any emotion. And he was angry at him. Again. He wasn't sure if that was mockery or not. He didn't like it when he didn't know something.

     

    “It's a blood-price,” he avoided that question. “That means it has to be paid in blood.” He looked at the human in steel armor and noticed that he walked funny. Like the ground was slipping out from under him. What a strange thought.

     

    “There won't be any fight today,” said Grulmar, but Gularzob paid him no heed. He knew that Yamarz was angry and he needed to let out that rage on something. Or someone. That he understood and he took pride in that. That he understood his chieftain. It meant that one day he would be a great chieftain too.

     

    Yamarz walked up to the gate and opened it.

    And the man fell into the snow, face forward. And didn't move.

     

    Yamarz watched the human fall. What trickery is this? He approached him and shoved him with his boot. No response, so he turned him over. His face was covered by melting snow. It was tinged a deep red and his eyes were closed.

     

    At that moment, Osha ran from the palisade towards him and crouched beside the unconscious Imperial. She put her hand on his forehead. “He's sick. He has fever.”

     

    Yamarz frowned. He wanted blood and instead of it, he got a half-dead corpse. Malacath was punishing him for something, he was sure of it. Was it because he wanted to throw away his honour? Was this a sign?

     

    He felt shamed. By himself. This man showed some honor in coming here. Not every human would do that, but this one did. It deserved respect. There was a blood-price he had to pay, but Yamarz was now conviced that it wouldn't be in blood.

     

    There might be another solution.

     

    He looked at Osha. “Find Atub. And tell her to bring her potions.”



     

Comments

19 Comments   |   Paws and 4 others like this.
  • Caladran
    Caladran   ·  November 27, 2017
    Curious change with Grulmar, and poor Decimus fallen sick! o:
  • Paws
    Paws   ·  September 6, 2016
    People usually want to know everything other people know. Fear? Show me a person who isn´t afraid of his friend knowing more than he should and I´ll buy you a flask of mead.
    Curiosity is a poison. It makes people do stupid things for stupid reaso...  more
  • SpottedFawn
    SpottedFawn   ·  June 6, 2016
    "There weren´t many things as dangerous as an Orc backed into a corner. And their strongholds were just that. One big corner."
    Fantastic line, Karvs. Really curious about the direction the plot's going in. Will we see more of Narzulbur in the future?
  • Capricorn
    Capricorn   ·  June 5, 2016
    Ok I retract what I said earlier about grulmar...but he's still skinny!
  • Justiciar Thorien
    Justiciar Thorien   ·  March 18, 2016
    Wow, this is just priceless, Karver. Awesome chapter. Forgetting the honor is never good, huh?)) And Grulmar, he's so cool, now it's just obvious that he's a very special guy))
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  December 21, 2015
    Yet again you don't fail to disapoint Karver. You have a good grasp of Orcs. This is going to be usefull to reffer to.
  • Exuro
    Exuro   ·  December 21, 2015
    An inspiration to read TT during work, lol. Thanks for the info; I once had a sensei who said, 'every strike is block and every block is a strike,' I guess he would have been an orc axe wielder in Skyrim
  • Karver the Lorc
    Karver the Lorc   ·  December 21, 2015
    Thanks, Exuro. Yeah, that introspection...I´m reading Steven Erikson now, so everytime I do that, it shows in my writing. 
    Oh, boy. Now you´ve picked a fight with someone you shouldn´t  
    You´re mistaken that with axes you can´t really block. N...  more
  • Exuro
    Exuro   ·  December 21, 2015
    Got some nice introspection in this chapter. Ya, Grumlar is being creepy. You forgot to mention the scarred emotionless staring, but I approve of creepy kids in stories
    Correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't it also be very hard to block or parry wit...  more
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  December 21, 2015
    Man, I bet Nords drink at six and wield axes too.